


Domestication of the North American Super Soldier

by ToriCeratops



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Curtain Fic, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 01:20:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3917902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToriCeratops/pseuds/ToriCeratops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, five people who tried to help turn Steve's place into a home and the one person who managed it without having to try at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Domestication of the North American Super Soldier

**Author's Note:**

  * For [surgicalstainless](https://archiveofourown.org/users/surgicalstainless/gifts).



_Natasha_

“You are kidding me.”

Steve stares at Natasha and Sam who are standing just inside his door.  Sam already has his face buried in his hands but Natasha is looking around the living space with an incredibly critical eye. 

“Excuse me.”  Steve starts without getting up from his couch.  “Who just barged into whose apartment?  No one asked for a critique.”

“Yes, well sometimes you need to hear the cold truth and the truth is, this place is cold.”  And while Steve knows she is teasing, keeping her tone light with humor in her eyes, her statement strikes a chord a little too close to his heart.  He looks around, at the blank walls and the sparse bookshelves.  His first apartment had been provided and entirely furnished by Shield and then he had been in a temporary place for a while.  But this one in the tower is more or less his permanent residence for as long as he’s an Avenger and after six months it still has little more than the absolute basics.  It’s not like he is there a whole hell of a lot anyway.

“Nat.  We’re here to drag Steve out to lunch.  Not domesticate him.”  Sam reminds her.

“Thank you, Sam.”  He says with honest appreciation.

“Fine.  Lunch.  _Then_ we fix this mess.” 

But he knows that even with Sam’s help he had lost the battle the moment Natasha had made up her mind.  For as long as he’d known her Nat had never shown any inclinations towards the cozy home life style but what she _had_ done was constantly attempt to bring a little joy to his life whether it be getting him a date, dragging him to social situations or now, apparently, insisting on decorating his apartment.  Though he may have resisted her on all of it, he truly does appreciate the effort.

And she’s _always_ been persistent. 

Which is how the three of them end up at a place called ‘Pier One’ that Steve is fairly certain is the most useless store in existence. 

“I’ve been trying to think of something worse for a good fifteen minutes but I’m afraid I’m going to have to agree with you there.”  Sam says rather flatly as they both stare down at a four foot tall statue of a lanky giraffe that looks like it had been stretched even further out of proportion than the actual animal would have been.  Steve stands with his arms crossed while Sam reaches out and pokes it in the head, watches it wobble a bit, then goes back to mimicking Steve’s stance.  They both frown for a moment before Natasha crosses their path and catches Steve’s attention.  She has a large canvas in her hand, the front faced away from them so he can’t actually see what is on it.

But her path takes her past a section he hadn’t been to yet where he spots the first thing that actually piques his interest.

“What’s that?”

Sam follows him over and as soon as he spots what Steve is referring to starts openly laughing.  The sound is bright and Steve turns to protest his laughter at first but finds the words caught in his throat at the way Sam’s smile lights up his face.  His own face heats just like every time it does when he notices how beautiful the man is and looks away.  He is not denying it.  Just – not ready to face it yet.

He clears his throat and looks around to find Natasha who is speaking with the tiny little young woman who has been eagerly helping them.  “Hey.  Nat!”  When she looks up he points to the piece of furniture.  “Tell April I want this.”

She takes one look where he is pointing and immediately frowns, on the verge of looking offended.

“No.”

“It looks _really_ comfortable.”  He points out.

Natasha comes to stand closer and shakes her head.

“My apartment.”  He adds. 

“Steve, just because you missed the seventies doesn’t mean you get to try and bring them back for your own amusement.”

He is about to argue when he feels a hand on his shoulder and turns to see Sam still biting back laughter.  “Nat.  Come on.”  Steve relaxes to hear Sam on his side.  “It really does look comfy.  Throw a few pillows on there, maybe a blanket and you’d have quiet the cozy little nest.”

Steve makes a choking noise trying to contain his own burst of amusement and then mumbles.  “Good point, _falcon._ ” 

Sam’s jaw drops in disbelief.  “Really.  Really?  I stick up for you and this is what I get in return?  Bird jokes.”  He’s still smiling despite his words and by the time Steve manages a halfhearted apology they are both laughing.  “That hurts.  Hurts _deep_ man.”

“I’m sorry.  I just… it just slipped out.”

The sound of a camera phone snaps them out of their own little world and Steve looks back to Natasha just in time to catch her dropping her arms and smiling sweetly.  “I’m getting the…”  Steve squats down and looks for a tag.  “Papason.”

“You are not.”

“Good thing I don’t need your permission.”

“You’ll break it in a week”

Steve rolls his eyes and goes off to talk to April himself.  “I’m not going to break it.”

**

_Clint_

He busts it in two weeks.

Steve hadn’t intended to, of course, and maybe if he had remembered that it was actually not made for someone of his density and hadn’t plopped down into what was essentially a giant wicker basket, it would have been fine.  But he really had enjoyed it while it lasted so one afternoon he and Sam had spent a few hours searching online and found the perfect replacement. 

Which is how he’s currently curled up in something that claims to support enough weight it could hold Steve, Thor, _and_ Tony in his suit before it began to notice the stress.  It’s metal and twice as large as the last, the pillow top infinitely more fluffy and cushioned (which is saying something) and Steve has already passed out in it and spent the night blissfully comfortable _twice_.  On the largest wall are the three earth toned canvases Natasha had picked out and under each one is an abstract jewel toned hip high vase with shiny metal peacock feathers sticking out of them.

For everything she had chosen, Steve had picked something out as well, much to her chagrin.  On the coffee table is an elegant looking glass bowl full of useless hardened balls of twine and on either side of that are two bright purple candles covered in _glitter._   He’d bought them purely to push Nat’s buttons but had quickly grown fond of the amused smiles from his friends and refused to ever ditch them once he realized they made Sam laugh almost every time the man came into the living room.  The shelves have scattered knick-knacks with absolutely no rhyme or reason to them.

There’s also a four foot giraffe right next to the front door.

Sam had brought that in a day later, explaining that you can’t sit there and stare at something for that long without claiming it as your own.

All together they make his place _look_ less cold, but it still doesn’t feel any different.

The laughter coming from the kitchen though, that helps.

It helps a lot.

“How fucking long have you lived here?”  Clint wanders out to where Steve is with a wide smile on his face and Steve sets his kindle to the side. 

“Not terribly long?”  

“Eight months.”  Nat and Sam call out simultaneously from behind Clint.

“Eight… what, how do you eat?”

“Out.  Mostly.”

He looks dumbfounded for a long moment then just shakes his head.  “Nope.”  And goes back to the kitchen.

Which is _terrifying_.  So Steve groans and gets up to follow him.  There he finds the room in something that would probably be chaos if, well, if he had anything for them to have strewn about the place.  The cabinet doors are all open, top and bottom, revealing just how sparse the place is.  There aren’t even any kind of small appliances other than a blender and a toaster.  He eats a lot, and he knows _how_ to cook.  He just doesn’t really enjoy cooking for one.

“He does have two pots under here!”  Nat proclaims loudly before standing, one large pot in her left hand, medium sized in the right.

Sam shakes his head.  “Nah, those are mine.  I brought them over here a couple weeks ago when we made risotto.  Left them here because, well.”  He holds out his arms as if to let the kitchen speak for itself, which, okay it completely does.

But apparently Clint only heard the tiniest bit of that.  “Wait.  You know how to make risotto and you don’t even own your own pot?”

“No, Sam knows how to make risotto.  I just got to enjoy it.”

“Well, I’m not going to stand around here for Sam to move in and bring his kitchen with him so we can make dinner.”  Natasha has a strange grin on her face that she’s trying to hide when Clint looks back at her.    “Do we have time for shopping?”

“Oh, I have all day.”

Something churns in Steve’s stomach and he can almost feel his pocket book getting lighter as each second passes.  “Sam, help?”

The traitor shakes his head.  “Not this time, buddy.  If you want me to keep cooking for you, you will give the master chef here free reign at Williams-Sonoma.”  Though he doubts the veracity of Clint being called a ‘master chef’ his heart does a little flip of the idea of _Sam_ coming over to cook more often.

“Fine.”  He tries to still sound exasperated, despite now being fully on board with the idea. 

But if Natasha’s tiny smirk is anything to go by, the jig is up.

 

**

_The Twins_

Turns out, Clint is a _phenomenal_ chef.  He’s not only good at it, he’s good at teaching it and after spending far more on cutlery and crockery than he ever thought possible, Steve has something that resembles a fully equipped kitchen.  At least, that’s what Clint calls it now. A quick trip to the grocer on the way home and the four of them had spent the evening together in between the stove, counters and sink, chopping, mixing, and burning a few things here and there. 

At the end of the day it had been one of the more memorable in Steve’s recent memory.

And the best part, is that it isn’t the last.

Dinner becomes an affair at Steve’s place when there are several people in New York.  It’s not as frequent as he’d like, but it’s something.  Sometimes (most of the time) it’s just him and Sam since Sam officially moved to the city.  Steve is _more_ than okay with this, but the other times it can be anywhere between three and ten of them crammed into his apartment waiting to be fed. 

Maybe crammed isn’t the best word, it is quite a large amount of space after all.  But it’s, well, it’s a little more cozy at the very least.

“Steve.”  Wanda leans against the archway between his kitchen and living room, staring out into the space where every surface available is occupied by someone, including Clint – hilariously – nested in the papason with Nat and arguing with Maria and Rhodey about which Lethal Weapon movie was best. Pietro is sitting on the back of the couch (Steve gave that fight up after only a week) with his bare feet where his ass should be and has a hand down on the up button of the controller, flying through the movie titles available on the tower’s media drive.

And there are still people in the kitchen. 

Steve has his hands buried in what is going to be burgers in a little while as Sam is adding seasonings so he can’t really go over there at the moment.  “Yeah?”

“You need more… more…”  She looks back at him and frowns.  “More something.  I can’t decide if it’s more chairs, or another couch, or another one of the baskets.” 

“NO!”  Nat yells over the din of the living room.  “Not another one of these monstrosities.”  She says even as she wiggles down further into the encompassing comfort that is Steve’s favorite chair. 

Beside Steve, Sam laughs.  “There’s not just a whole lot of space out there for something else that will be, you know, enough.” 

For a moment Wanda is silent, studying the living area and the people in it for a long time.  Then she spins with an excited grin on her face.  Steve is starting to dread seeing that kind of look on his friend’s faces.  “Pietro!  Come.”  Without waiting for a response she heads toward the door.  “We will be right back.” 

Her brother looks confused but goes along with her.

Steve groans.  “If they come back with hammocks I’m moving.”

Sam tries very hard to stifle his laughter, but it’s a losing battle.  “They’re your kids.”  He says flatly just as he adds his own hands to the bowl and starts helping to mix the ingredients together. 

Their fingers wind up tangled together more than actually in the mixture and Steve has to swallow very heavily to get his argument out.  “They’re not my kids.  They’re Avengers.”

“They’re kind of your kids.”

“They’re Clint’s kids if they’re anyone’s.”

Sam seems to accept that with a mischievous and conspiratorial smile which Steve kind of gets a little lost in, forgetting what he’s supposed to be doing.

He’s reminded quite suddenly by someone clearing their throat.

When they both look up it’s to find Natasha smiling sweetly with her arms crossed, something tucked away, hidden in her hand.  “Are you two actually going to start cooking the burgers sometime this century or just stand there making eyes at each other the rest of the evening?”

Both men pause, catching each other’s gaze but still with a smile that’s warm, understanding.  Steve drops his head first – still smiling – and pulls his fingers free.  He turns to the sink to wash his hands.  “I suppose if the rest of the children are hungry we could actually feed them at some point.”

“Don’t encourage them, Steve.”  Sam warns, coming up behind Steve to wait his turn for the sink.  When Steve finishes and turns, they are dangerously close.  He only lingers for a moment before slipping to the side, flicking a few drops of water at his friend.

“They don’t need encouragement, it happens all on its own.”

When Sam laughs again Steve catches Natasha shaking her head.  “What?”  He asks.

“Nothing.”  She throws her hands in the air, immediately returning to the living room.  “I didn’t say a word!”

 

By the time the burgers are done the twins return and Steve almost wishes they hadn’t.

“Pillows?!”

“Pillows!”  Sam nearly shoves Steve out of the way and digs through the two massive boxes that Steve really doesn’t want to know the origins of and starts scattering pillows over the couch, the love seat, adding _more_ to the papason (not that it needs it) and then all over the floor.  There are big ones, small ones, long ones, fat ones, all different colors and some with some truly ridiculous sayings on them.  There some rather large flat ones that are simple in color and in texture that he assumes are made specifically for the floor which is where they end up.  Maria catches on tossed haphazardly her direction and starts laughing even louder than she already is. 

“America the Beautiful?”  She holds it up with a smirk.

“That one’s mine!”  Sam snatches the pillow from her and tucks it under his arm without further explanation.  Steve’s okay with it though. 

It’s more than encouraging.

After dinner they finally agree on a movie.  And by agree, Steve would of course be referring to the fact that he eventually wrestled the remote away from Clint, kept Pietro at bay and then slipped the thing to Sam for him to start the film he’d picked out while no one was looking.

Everyone is curled up and comfortable throughout the living room, pillows _everywhere._ Steve and Sam sit shoulder to shoulder on the floor, laid back against the couch and on top of who knows how many pillows and only because Natasha refused to give up her cocoon in the papason.  Hypocrite. 

Half way through the movie, in the dark living room, with a stomach full of good food and a warmth settling over him from good friends, Steve yawns.  Without thinking he stretches, getting his hand smacked by Maria from behind him where she sits on the couch and then bringing it down stretched out to the side. 

Which is how it winds up draped around Sam’s shoulders.  But Sam doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react other than to actually lean into it.

Steve doesn’t look at him but he smiles like an idiot, mind racing with everything he wants to tell Sam, how to say it, what to say. 

When he should say it.

Which makes him feel even warmer, because maybe, finally, he’s starting to pull his life back together.

 

**

_Bucky_

The first thing Steve does the next day is to buy a massive coffee table that doubles not only as extra seating but also storage for the truly ridiculous number of pillows he now owns.  And if he purposely buys one he likes but knows doesn’t go really well with his existing furniture _just_ to get a rise out of Nat, well, no one needs to ever know.

That afternoon he has plans.  A phone call to make, a question to ask, and – with any luck – a date to go on.

He makes it to step one before his world has to go and turn upside down all over again. 

Just as he’s about to pick up his phone it actually rings and he answers it instantly. 

“Sam?”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Steve.  I found him.”

Steve doesn’t see the inside of his New York apartment for almost three months.  By the time he returns he realizes that finding Bucky had drug Steve several steps back from trying to move on, move forward.  In every aspect of his life.  Sam mentions it, once, but once the conversation is over doesn’t bring it up ever again. 

And Steve feels absolutely horrible about it.

But in the end, it is worth it.  Because he has his friend back.  Bucky isn’t the same, but if he’s being honest Steve isn’t the same either. 

There’s enough there that they still know each other though.  And that’s enough for Steve.

More than enough.

Its eight months after they all – including Bucky – return to New York that Steve’s birthday comes around.  It’s technically a few days before his birthday since the entire country wants to celebrate his actual birthday.  Everyone has gathered at Steve’s place, all of his friends including Thor, who has brought Jane.  Tony’s there sans Pepper, Darcy is having far too much fun flirting with Wanda, and everyone else is who knows where but Steve is pretty sure there are more people currently in his apartment than have ever been here before.

Bucky finds him at some point late in the evening and drags him off to the guest room without a single word or explanation.  Once there Steve groans because he had told everyone not to get him anything.  Nothing.  At all.

But sitting on the bed is a large box wrapped in tacky red white and blue paper.  “Happy Birthday, punk.”  He says, gesturing for him to open it. 

Steve sighs and pulls it to the edge and gives Bucky an unamused look while he starts ripping into the paper. 

What’s inside, however, takes his breath away and nearly brings tears to his eyes.

“I noticed something seemed to be missing around here.”  Bucky says though Steve’s pulse is pounding in his ears and he’s not entirely focused.  “Asked Nat about it and she helped me put this together.”

With a trembling hand Steve picks the first picture frame from the top of the pile.  The picture is of six of his friends, all huddled around in his living room, pillows and all, laughing like nothing wrong ever happens in their lives.  It is the first of _dozens._ All different sizes in all sorts of types of frames.  Some have nearly everyone crammed into one tiny square, others are just of two or three people.  Always smiling, always….

Always happy.

“I… I don’t know what to say.”  He’s excited and terrified all at the same time and he can’t pin down a reason why.  It makes him so happy to see all of these, to have visual proof of all of this, all of them. 

Bucky rifles down through the box and pulls something out, looking down at the picture with a sad smile on his face.  “Steve.  You’ve done a lot for me these last few months. Hell, years. And as much as I know I’ve got to fight my demons on my own, I also know you have my back.”  He sighs and looks up, meeting Steve’s gaze.  “Just like I’ve got yours.  You don’t know what to say?  Well, say thank you, first.”  Bucky holds out the frame in his hand, smile changing from something sad to something much more encouraging.  “Then go say everything else you have to say to him.”  

Slowly Steve takes the picture from him, nodding, already knowing what he’s going to see there.  Maybe not the exact details.

But certainly who.

And he’s right.  It’s from who knows when, and Steve genuinely doesn’t know because the smiles on their faces, the way they look at each other in the photograph, it could be any day of the damn week for the last two plus years.  He would recognize that smile on his face anywhere.

It’s the one that belongs wholly, and completely, to Sam. 

Instead of doing exactly what Bucky says though, Steve winds up taking the box to his own room and setting it down on the foot of the bed, picture of him and Sam still clutched tightly in his hand.  Bucky had been right about not having any pictures around the apartment of all of his friends here, in New York.  In this time.  But on the nightstand, on the dresser, on the wall just next to his closet, are every black and white picture he could scrounge up of his friends from – and he can’t even figure out how to describe it any more – from before? From his time?  Friend’s he’s lost all at once, who had lost him decades before and yet he can’t help but hold onto like they might slip away.

“Hey, Steve?”  Sam pokes his head through the doorway and Steve sits down on the edge of his bed, sitting the frame in his hand face down next to him.

“Sam! Sorry.  I uh, I’ll be out in a second.”  He tries to cover all the shit welling up in his chest but Sam, of course, isn’t buying it.

Which is why Steve isn’t surprised in the slightest when Sam comes in and shuts the door behind him, immediately walking over to where Steve sits and dropping down on the bed next to him.  He’s silent, patient, and Steve drops his head down with a noiseless laugh, shaking his head.  Because this is what Sam does.  He doesn’t push or ask or hell, even offer advice unless requested.  Sam just – is.  He is a beautiful constant in Steve’s life - the light of a quiet evening when he smiles, or the warmth that radiates from his laugh and from his kindness.

“I’m having problems, well,” He gestures to the box at his feet which Sam looks into with a nod.  “Figuring out where to fit everything.”

“You know.”  Sam starts, bending down to grab the top picture which is of Tony laughing while Steve rolls his eyes.  “You don’t have to replace what you’ve already got to put these up.” 

Steve looks at him, a question on the tip of his tongue but silent.

“The ones you have are already all different.  I mean, look at the two you’ve got next your bed.  Peggy, in a classic portrait and pristine silver frame, right next to a snap of your Commandoes in a wooden square that has certainly seen better days.  And don’t get me _started_ on how different all the ones in this box are.”  Sam taps the box with his toe rather pointedly, raising a single eyebrow at Steve who dips his head with a smile.  “How would adding in new ones mess any of that up?”

Sam brings a hand up to rest on Steve’s shoulder, a warm and heavy touch that makes Steve’s insides absolutely melt.  “Besides, it’s not like the rest of your life has any rhyme or reason to it.  Have you _seen_ the peacock feathers lately?”

Steve nods again, feeling the familiar swell of warmth in his chest that Sam always gives him.  It gives him courage, purpose.  He grabs the frame he had sat next to himself and flips it over, holding it at an angle so they can both see it.  “And what should I do with this one.”  He glances over at Sam with a smirk of a smile, waiting for his reaction.

The grip on his shoulder tightens and Sam’s smile brightens, words going a little breathless.  “If I were you, I would put that somewhere where I would never lose it.” 

“You make an excellent point.”  Steve turns and sets the picture aside again, facing Sam fully and swallowing his hesitations to bring a hand up to Sam’s cheek.  “Sam, how long have you been waiting for me?  For me to figure this out, to ask you out?”

Sam bites his lip, nodding for a moment as he gathers himself then takes a deep breath.  “How long ago did we meet?”

His laugh is sweet, caught by Steve in a kiss that he’s been waiting on for far too long.  They cling to each other, lips gently parting as they deepen their embrace.  For a long time they forget that anything or anyone else exists until the sound of a camera phone going off snaps them back to reality. 

Steve turns just in time to see a hand slip out of the small crack in his door.  “Natasha!”

But Sam is laughing again, distracting Steve from his ire as he pulls him in close and holds him tight.  Steve sighs, lowering his head to rest in the crook of Sam’s neck.  “I’m sorry I took so long, Sam.”

“I have a sinking suspicion you will prove to be worth the wait.”

**

_Sam_

Sam moves in six months later.  And not just because Steve’s place is bigger and with a much better view.  But because, well, at this point Steve has almost twice as much _stuff_ and neither of them want to pack that up and do anything with it.  So now in addition to the already eclectic _motif_ (Natasha’s words) that Steve had amassed, Sam’s things get thrown in as well. 

The canvases Nat had gotten what feels like forever ago are the only things that are tossed, replaced with a collage of pictures, black and white, full color, silly, posed, professional, candid.  They are of their friends, their family, both past and current, including Sam’s extremely large extended branches.  There’s no clear line between one set and another.  They are all intermixed, each piece an irreplaceable and important part of the whole, and Steve loves the way it turned out.

“Hey Sam?”  Steve comes through the front door after a long meeting upstairs.  He pets their stupid giraffe then closes the door behind him. 

“In the kitchen!  Starting dinner.” 

For a second Steve lays back against the heavy wood, smiling.  He’s tired but endlessly happy that Sam has made it back already.  He wants to eat dinner and then proceed to take Sam to their bed and – ok, well, he’s not _that_ tired.

Steve makes his way to the kitchen and wraps his arms around Sam, settling his chin on his shoulder to try and figure out what he’s cooking. 

“Hey, welcome home, baby.”  Smiling brightly, Sam gets a small bite of the meat and vegetable mixture onto a spoon and holds it up for Steve to try.  When he does Steve lets out a small groan because everything Sam makes is delicious and whatever he’s concocted today is no different.

As soon as he’s swallowed it he smiles, pressing warm kisses to Sam’s neck and holding him just a little tighter.

“Hm. It’s good to be home.”


End file.
